That familiar weightlessness enveloped his consciousness again.
Lying in the darkness, Zeyren had stopped trying to distinguish whether it was physical exhaustion or the detachment of his soul. He just knew it was time to go to that place again. Aria. That dream world he visited periodically, like a part of his own life.
It was strange. Although he forgot most of it each time he woke, leaving only vague shadows and strong emotions, all the memories would become incredibly clear and coherent again upon "returning," as if they had never been interrupted. Like a book that could only be opened at specific times, recording the life fragments of another "him."
He wasn't sure whether he should feel fortunate or troubled. Fortunate, because the stories in this "book" were far more… vivid than the reality of Blue Star, perhaps even the only spark of light in his gray existence. Troubled, because this cycle of "having then losing" always left him with an inexplicable emptiness upon waking.
But at this moment, he chose not to dwell on it.
His consciousness was sinking lightly, passing through an invisible boundary. The "save file" for Aria began to load automatically. He knew the scene this time would be that high plateau where one could see the magnificent galaxy. Because… it seemed all the important "plot points" happened there. And, he could feel… she should be there too.
The plateau wind, carrying the faint bitterness of medicinal herbs from deep within memory, brushed past their silent figures. The starlight was gentle, like the candlelight by the bedside that never went out during that long period of illness.
Zeyren in the dream was fully conscious, the memories of Aria unfolding in his mind like an illuminated star chart—rescuing the stubborn-eyed little girl in the woods at eight… and that seemingly endless time of watching over her day and night when she was gravely ill.
Every detail forgotten upon waking was now incredibly real. He quietly felt this connection that could only be sustained within the dream.
There was a faint rustle of clothing beside him. He turned his head to look at the girl who had run through his countless dreams.
She had grown; her features were no longer childish. Only her eyes, still as bright as when he first saw them, now held something more complex, deeper than the starry river.
She gazed at the stars for a long time, seemingly lost in distant thoughts. After a long while, she slowly turned her head to look at Zeyren. Her eyes were exceptionally calm, but beneath that calmness surged a determination like the deep sea.
"Zeyren," she began, her voice soft, yet firm with a maturity gained through time, "there's something I think it's time I told you."
He watched her quietly. That sense of detachment belonging to the "dreamer" quietly receded in the face of her gaze now, replaced by an… unspeakable solemnity.
"My life, before you appeared, was like a rudderless, broken ship adrift on a cold sea," she said slowly, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. "The first time I met you, you pulled me back from the brink of death… Back then, I thought you were just a passing star, briefly illuminating my night sky."
"But I was wrong." Her gaze locked onto him, as if to ensure he heard every word. "Later… when I was so sick, everyone had given up, even I thought I was going to sink to the bottom of that cold sea… it was you."
Her voice choked for a moment, but she quickly regained composure, her eyes becoming incredibly gentle, yet filled with immense gratitude.
"Three whole months… or maybe longer? Time became blurry then. All I remember is, day or night, whenever I opened my eyes, I could always see you. It was you who awkwardly fed me those bitter herbs, you who stayed up all night watching over my recurring fever, you who told me again and again, tirelessly, 'It's okay, you'll get better'..."
"You even told me stories… about your hometown? Though I didn't understand much, your voice… was reassuring." She lowered her head slightly, seeming a bit embarrassed. "And the out-of-tune songs you sometimes hummed… they weren't actually good, but… they were warm."
She looked up, her eyes shimmering. "It was you who told me I wasn't just a stone that could be casually discarded. It was you who made me believe that even someone like me had the right to live, could… become better."
"The phrase you said most often to me was, 'You can do it'," she repeated softly, her eyes filled with strength. "It was you who made me believe I really could."
"So," she took a deep breath, stood up, and straightened her back like a poplar tree growing resiliently in the wind, "to me, you are no longer just some mysterious passerby. You are… my lighthouse, my salvation, the deepest bond in my life."
"I don't know where you come from, or why you appeared in my life. But I know I cannot lose this light." Her gaze was immeasurably firm, filled with unquestionable determination. "I've found some clues about where you might be from. I'm going to find you. No matter how far, no matter how hard, I will find you."
She walked up to him, leaned slightly forward, and stared into his eyes. There was no pleading in them, only a devotion bordering on faith and a solemn entrustment.
"Please wait for me there. Wait for me… to walk into your world, and stand by your side."
Zeyren's heart felt as if it were tightly gripped by a warm, strong hand, almost suffocating him.
Three months of care… constant encouragement… awkward songs… These dream details, forgotten in his waking reality, now became incredibly clear and heavy through the girl's sincere and solemn narration.
He finally understood that his actions in the dream, perhaps done out of "role-playing" or "boredom," meant the weight of the entire world to this girl.
He was no longer an observing "dreamer"; he was firmly drawn into this profound emotion, unable to escape.
He slowly stood up, meeting her gaze. The playfulness or casualness in his eyes was gone, replaced only by an unprecedented seriousness and solemnity.
"Alright," he said. Just one word, yet it felt as if it took all his strength, carrying a promise that spanned worlds.
"I'll wait for you."
The girl's eyes instantly lit up, like stars suddenly blooming in the dark night. She smiled, a smile so pure and radiant it could almost melt the boundless night.
And just as that smile reached its zenith, the plateau, the starry sky, along with that heavy promise, began to distort violently, spin, and a strong sense of detachment engulfed him...
Zeyren's eyes snapped open. The moldy spots on the ceiling slowly came into focus. His heart was still pounding slightly from the emotions at the end of the dream.
Another overly real dream. He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the lingering, heavy feeling. The starry sky in the dream was beautiful, the girl's gaze was so real… did he promise something important?
The details were already blurring, as usual. Only a faint wistfulness remained, and… a thread of inexplicable warmth.
He sighed and rolled out of bed. No matter how good the dream, it was still a dream. Reality was the cold floorboards, the empty stomach, and a pile of chores he had to deal with today.
He shook his head, forcing his attention back to the immediate grind. He washed up and went out as usual, merging into the rushing crowd. His mind was still on today's work tasks and next month's rent, trying his best to ignore the faint, persistent tug in his heart, as if from another world.
However, the gears of fate made a harsh, decisive turn the moment he stepped onto the crosswalk.
An out-of-control truck roared towards him like a steel behemoth. Blinding headlights, horrified screams, the shriek of tires scraping the pavement… The last frame was the dizzying spin of the world and a rapid descent into endless darkness.
When consciousness resurfaced, what greeted him wasn't the smell of antiseptic from a hospital, but a thick stench of dust and mildew.
A splitting headache. His forehead rested against cold, rough wood. Zeyren struggled to open his eyes. What met his gaze was a dirty ceiling covered in cracks, and weak morning light filtering through a grimy window.
Where… is this?
A sensation that didn't belong to him began to spread through his mind. Not a violent impact, but more like a quiet infiltration.
A sudden, intense anxiety seized him. This anxiety pointed towards today, and something terrifying called a "Certification Ceremony." Immediately following was a profound fear of hunger, as if it were this body's instinct.
Then, upon seeing the battered old lute in the corner, a strange tactile memory surfaced from his fingertips, a mix of clumsiness and longing...
These feelings and memory fragments spread like ink on rice paper. There was no sharp pain, but they brought a deeper dizziness and confusion of a misplaced identity.
"Who… am I?" he mumbled blankly.
The unlucky office worker from Blue Star hit by a truck? Or this… equally unlucky youth from another world named "Zeyren" living in these memories?
Bard… Certification Ceremony… These words branded themselves onto his awareness like cold iron.
It seemed… he had to participate in some ceremony today, or the consequences would be dire?
He gasped for breath, forcing his eyes to focus, to look at his surroundings—the dilapidated room, the rough clothing, the lute in the corner... These sights began to overlap and confirm the churning memory fragments of the "original host."
Until he saw the young, yet weary and unfamiliar face clearly reflected in the water basin, a cold fact finally settled in—
He had crossed over. Occupying the body of this youth named Zeyren, who was facing a fateful judgment today.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. His mind was a mess, like a tangled ball of yarn.
Memories of Blue Star, memories of this unfamiliar body, and the harsh reality before him churned together, making it almost impossible to think.
What now?
The question echoed, but pointed only towards a vast uncertainty. He didn't even know what to worry about first—the body that felt weak enough to collapse at any moment? The gnawing hunger that threatened to consume his sanity? Or the unknown dangers lurking in this strange environment?
He felt a profound exhaustion and powerlessness. This wasn't a world he knew; he had no foundation here, nothing and no one to rely on.
He rubbed his face hard, trying to clear his head. He had to do something. He couldn't just sit here and wait to die.
He began to force himself to recall the memory fragments just pouring in, those belonging to the "original host Zeyren," trying to find some useful information.
Food… the memories were filled with craving and scarcity.
Safety… this slum seemed rife with violence and bullying.
Skills… that lute, and those out-of-tune songs, seemed to be the original host's only "specialty," and also his means of earning a meager income?
Thinking didn't bring much comfort, only more anxiety. His understanding of this world was practically zero; every step could be a trap.
"Grrrrowl..." His stomach protested again.
Zeyren sighed and stood up.
Whatever happened, just sitting here wasn't his style. He needed information, needed food, needed… to take the first step.
He walked to the door, grasped the rough wooden handle, and took a deep breath, almost smelling the complex mix of dust, garbage, and human noise from the street outside.
Then, he pushed the door open.